Yay for fanfiction~! This was my second attempt at a fic since 2007. I'll get the other up eventually. Until then have some hurt/comfort/friendship.
I don't own Sherlock or anything else mentioned.
Enjoy~!
-Clinging to Debris-
"What is the appropriate behavior for a man or a woman in the midst of this world, where each person is clinging to his piece of debris? What's the proper salutation between people as they pass each other in this flood?"
-Buddha
"A friend is one who knows you and loves you just the same."
-Elbert Hubbard
Sometimes, when a high stress event occurs, the body's amygdala gland releases hormones that allow the body to react more quickly to a situation at the price of some higher order reasoning. That being said, John wasn't entirely sure how he had ended up sitting next to one Sebastian Moran in a park in central London, drinking coffee. He just couldn't piece it together. One moment he could clearly remember being at the shop near the clinic, buying a sandwich on his lunch hour. He locked eyes with a fellow shopper when he turned away from the checkout aisle. The surprised look must have mirrored his own. Then he pushed past the taller man, heading for the door. He wasn't stopped.
Then everything was a blur. He saw Moran again outside the shop when he stopped to clear his head. He felt his bag be pushed into his hands—he had left it. He agreed to go get coffee. He followed the taller man to the park and sat down next to him, watching kids play on some nearby playground equipment. He was running on autopilot. So he was caught off guard when the other man on the bench addressed him directly.
"So…Hello, doc." His voice was unnaturally deep. And impossibly sober. John saw him glance over at him quickly, out of the corner of his eye.
John nodded, but didn't look over at him. "'Lo." He focused on a group of primary school kids playing a game by the monkey bars.
He saw Moran take drink of his coffee and grimace. This was uncomfortable. It was a really bad idea. But John couldn't bring himself to care. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. He unwrapped the sandwich he had bought and took a bite. It tasted like sand in his mouth, but he forced himself to swallow. He needed to eat more often or Mrs. Hudson would worry even more than she did already.
Moran sighed. "How're you holding up?" No more beating around the bush, then. John knew that this was the reason they were still sitting here. Two grown men, both now completely alone in the world. John felt like he should hate Moran. But he couldn't bring himself to. He was just too tired.
"Not…too well." No point in lying. John barely ate. He slept even less. He spent most of his time at the clinic, dreading the idea of returning to that empty flat. "I…don't go home much anymore."
Moran nodded. John knew he would. "I just keep doing job after job. I can't really stay in my flat either. Too many things he left behind unfinished. He left a half drunken cup of coffee on the counter…that day...Three months later it's still there...this…this has really fucked me up." He coughed to hide a sob. John heard it, but decided to ignore it. Let the man grieve for the monster. The children had broken into groups. Was it red rover they were playing? John couldn't tell.
He didn't know why he was still there. Why he was still talking. It was like he really couldn't stop himself. "Yeah...I let Mrs. Hudson donate his lab set to a school. I figured that...that he wouldn't need it anymore and someone else would." Another drink to try to soothe away the lump in his throat. It worked, just a bit.
There was a strangled laugh to his left. "I don't think any school would want Jim's crap..."
This provoked a laugh from John. Bitter, but the first laugh he could remember in a while. Moran looked over, surprised, but smiled sadly. John shrugged tiredly, balling up the wrapper of his sandwich. When had he finished it? "Heh, probably not...I've kept his violin maintained though. He wouldn't want it to go to waste. He loved it more than most people. Not that Sherlock loved most people."
Moran nodded. "Jim…he was like that with his suits. I can't even put them in storage." He looked tired. Completely beat down. Just like John felt.
John shifted uncomfortably. Hesitantly, he put his hand on Moran's shoulder, causing the other man to jump in surprise. "It'll…it's okay…." John sighed. His hand dropped back down to the bench. "What am I saying? No it isn't."
They went back to watching the kids. It was red rover they were playing. One boy ran at the opposing chain and broke through, pulling one of the taller kids back to his side with him.
"I really don't know what to do with myself anymore." Moran murmured, more to the air than to John. Never the less, John answered.
"Neither do I."
"…Did you ever tell him? How you felt?"
John didn't see any point in hiding it. There was nothing to be done about it either way. "I couldn't...I was afraid of how he would react...or not react..."
"I'm sorry." He was.
"I am too." He was.
They watched the kids for a bit longer. The two from earlier gripped each other's arms tightly, not letting any of the others though.
"I really hope...and I really do. Things get better. Even just a bit." Moran sound strangled again. John couldn't bring himself to look at him.
"Me too. Me too…." He finished his coffee and sat there, turning the cup over and over in his hands.
"Well you have the clinic. You can help people...Right? People need good doctors that care." Moran looked at John fully for the first time. John focused on staring a hole in the cup.
He expected a reply, John guessed. "I guess that's true...But I...I just can't bring myself to care anymore. You know? Their colds just seem so mundane, anymore." He shoved the balled up wrapper into the cup, if only to give his shaking hands something to do for a moment.
Moran's voice took on more life than John had heard the entire conversation. "Yeah? Well I never really cared about all of that, but you shouldn't stop. The world needs people like you. Me on the other hand...well you know." He trailed off.
John glared. No. He wasn't allowed to think that way if John wasn't. "You shouldn't give up. If I'm not allowed to, then you aren't either. Understand?"
"…Okay." Moran shook his head, disbelief evident on his face.
"We'll make it through this. Somehow. We...we just have to persevere." John wished that he felt as strong as he sounded.
"I suppose...it was good talkin', doc. Just keep caring for your patients. Someone needs to care." Moran stood, dropping his empty coffee cup in a nearby trash can.
"It was…nice to talk to you too, Moran. Let's talk again soon, yeah?" And John was surprised to realize that he meant it. He felt better than he had in months. He felt like some weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He dropped his own trash in as well.
"Yeah." Moran nodded, smiling slightly.
The two didn't actually expect to see each other again.
About one month later Sebastian found himself in the waiting room of a tiny clinic in central London, shaking with his head leaned up against the wall. When he'd last checked his temperature, sometime last night he thought, it had been nearing 39°C. He hadn't been able to keep any food down in two days at least. But he didn't dare to go to the hospital. There was too much of a chance of being recognized, even with an alias. So no hospitals. Ever.
"Fuck…my….life." His vision went blurry every time he opened his eyes. Was this what dying was like? No thanks.
Eventually, a nurse called him back into an examination room and said that a doctor would be in shortly. Sebastian didn't care. He was certain that the doctor wouldn't be able to do anything. Instead, he focused on not slipping off the side of the exam room table.
Outside, John had just returned from a lunch he really didn't want when Sarah called him aside and asked him to go in and check on the patient in room 2, as he looked pretty bad off when she saw him checking in. John nodded and took the clipboard from her, not bothering to look down at the information as he headed straight to the room. He entered and shut the door behind him, not looking up as he scanned the page. "Okay, what seems to be the problem today Mr. Smi-" He looked up. "Moran?"
Sebastian slowly raised his head. His breathing was labored. "Doc?" He smiled weakly. "O-of all the clinics…huh?" The room seemed to shift violently in front of him and he doubled over in pain, nearly falling off the side of the examination table. "Forget it…leave me here to die," he whined.
The army doctor was at the larger man's side instantly to steady him, keeping him from falling over and off the edge. "Don't be stupid," John growled through gritted teeth. "Now tell me what's wrong, exactly. Your symptoms?"
"Well, you have a twin!" Sebastian was delirious from pain as he let out a laugh. "And he's got a twin…the room's blurry…and…and…." His smile faltered and his eyes focused on something behind John. His face lost any coloring it had still retained. "…Jim?" A man, standing there with blood running down his face. "Jim?"
"Moran! Sebastian! Calm down—we're the only people here—" John held him there on the table, but glanced over his shoulder to be sure. No one. "There's no one there, Sebastian."
Sebastian reached out to the visage, but it vanished as quickly and completely as it had appeared. "N-no! Where'd he go? Let me— I need to protect him! I have to protect Jim!" He struggled weakly, but John held him there firmly. The sickness had weakened him greatly.
John placed a hand on Sebastian's forehead. "You're burning up, you can't balance, and you're hallucinating. How long has this been happening?"
"I…I can't remember…" He looked around, breathing rapidly. "Three days?" That was about the time when he first started feeling sick, but couldn't rest. Couldn't stay in the flat.
He took a step back and, when Sebastian didn't immediately fall over John took that as a good sign. He went to the cabinet and retrieved a thermometer, promptly placed in Sebastian's mouth. "38.8. Jesus…." He also took Sebastian's pulse and blood pressure, which were racing and high. No wonder he fell sick. "Why the hell didn't you come in sooner, you idiot?"
"It…it wasn't important." He mumbled weakly. "Needed to work…couldn't stay at the flat."
"Idiot." John rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Open your mouth—I need to look at your throat."
Seb followed instructions, but his throat wasn't infected—just a bit raw. "So what…if I'm an idiot." He whispered, letting his eyes droop. It didn't matter what he did anymore.
"Last time we met you promised me that you'd keep living, remember? I'm holding you to that." John frowned, writing down a prescription for medication on his clipboard. "Dying from the flu is cheating."
"I guess I did…." He laid back on the table, a far off look in his eyes. His body was still trembling, partially from the sickness and partially from the vision. "I see him…everywhere go…it gets worse every day." He looked in John's direction. "Do you…?"
John sighed and looked away. "Sometimes, just before I fall asleep…and in busy crowds. It's almost like he's still here. But he isn't." He turned back to the man on the table. "You have a bad case of the flu. It won't require hospitalization, but you will need bed rest." John sighed again. "If I just let you leave with advice and medication you aren't going to follow it, are you?"
Lying down was helping his vision a bit. Everything had cleared up a bit. "You know me so well…." He tried to joke, but it just came out sounding tired.
Shaking his head, he stood up. "I wouldn't be a good doctor if I knowingly let you do that. You're staying with me until you are well enough to take care of yourself. Just let me tell Sarah that I need to go." He was at the door in a flash. "Don't move."
"What?" He addressed the door. "I didn't know you were a joker." He rested his head against the padded table, waiting for John to come back and tell him to get out, it was a joke, and that he hoped that Sebastian would die in a ditch somewhere. The idea hurt more than he thought it would.
John was quick to spot Sarah in the hallway. He quickly explained that his…friend was sick, and that John would need a few days off to see to it that he got better because he didn't have any friends or family to check on him. Sarah, while noticeably annoyed, allowed John to do this as he had hardly missed any work since Sherlock died. John returned to the room.
"Can you stand?"
Sebastian slowly sat up and stumbled onto his feet. He stood there, staring down at John and blinking hardly. "So…you don't have a twin, right?" He was still delirious. "Oh man…I wish I had a twin. That'd be cool." He began to falls sideways again, but John was at his side instantly, holding him up.
"Of course I don't have a twin. But you'd be easier to carry if I did." John helped Sebastian out of the room and, pausing to sign out, out of the clinic, into a cab. While in the cab, John called in Sebastian's medication to a druggist near the flat. After a quick stop to pick the medicine up, the pair made it to Baker Street.
Getting up the stairs was a challenge in itself. John practically had to drag Sebastian the entire way up and just managed to get him onto the couch. The sniper just laid there where he was dropped, breathing softly. He couldn't stop himself from scanning the room, looking for threats. "Why…are you…helping me? Shouldn't you hate me? Want to kill me…I helped…put a bomb on you…."
John had sat down on the arm of the couch to rest, having supported the other most of the way home. "Because…I'm a doctor. That's what we do. And…if I have to be miserable and alive, so do you. We just have to learn to cope." He stood, going to see if there was anything in the kitchen that was okay for a sick person to eat. Soup or something. The medicine had to be taken with food. There was a single can of chicken noodle soup that he quickly heated up. He also put the kettle on for tea.
"How do we cope?" He wanted an answer. Something to take his mind off the aches and pains the flu was causing. "I knew you were a good doctor."
"When I figure that out, you'll be the first to know." John poured the soup into a bowl and fixed up a cup of tea, then brought them both into the living room, setting them on the coffee table next to Sebastian. "Careful, it's still a bit hot." He pulled out the medication to get a dose ready.
Sebastian ate the soup, filling his empty stomach, and gave John a gruff thank you. John passed him the medicine, which he downed quickly before gagging. "Disgusting," he moaned miserably, "Ugh…how does this help people?"
He laughed a bit at Sebastian's expression and took the spoon. "Trust me, it does. Now lie down and rest. I'll go find you a blanket." He stood and picked up the empty dishes, taking them to the kitchen before he went to the closet and pulled out a spare blanket.
Suddenly, Sebastian was overwhelmed by the feeling of fatigue. John placed the blanket over him as his eyes grew heavier. "Thank you…John." The first time he addressed John by his actual name.
"No problem, Sebastian." He picked up Sebastian's mobile and typed something into it. "I'll be back in a bit. I'm going to go pick up more groceries from the Tesco. The kitchen's looking a bit sparse. Text me if you need anything, alright? And try to get some sleep." He sat the phone down on the coffee table next to his head.
"M'kay…" He mumbled, falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.
John would return after a few hours, but wouldn't feel the need to wake the exhausted man. He'd soon go to bed himself, falling into a shallow sleep, like he had every night for the last four months.
When he woke up, the clock on Sebastian's phone told him that in was nine in the morning. He rose, feeling a bit better than he had the previous day, but realized when he tried to yawn that he could no long breathe from his nose. "Gweat." He grumbled and stretched before wandering into the kitchen, looking around and deciding to make tea.
John stumbled down the stairs twenty minutes later to see Sebastian drinking tea at the kitchen table. He poured himself a mug of tea while he rifled through the kitchen for a suitable breakfast food. He passed the sick man a banana before he peeled one for himself. "Eat it. You need to take your medicine." He saw the look on the other's face and smiled slightly into his mug. "No excuses. How did you sleep? Feeling any better?"
Sebastian frowned, not wanting to talk because he knew he would sound stupid. " 'An't bweathe. Swept finth." He saw John's lips quirk up a bit more. "Thop it. Dwn't lauth!" He whined and took a bite of the fruit, somewhat annoyed. "That stuff ith nasteh…" He glared at the bottle and pushed it away like it was poison.
"You'll keep sounding like that if you don't take it." He shook his head, but couldn't stop a small laugh from escaping.
With a heavy sigh, Sebastian proceeded to finish his banana as slowly as possible. He took the bottle and poured himself a dose, swallowed it, and gagged once again. "Uuuuh! Disguhteng…."
John just took the spoon and dropped it into the growing pile in the sink. He needed to do dishes, but that could wait until later. He couldn't care less at the moment.
"…I neeth to geth some clowthes." Sebastian said when John had sat back down. He examined his wrinkled clothing, clearly displeased. That meant he'd have to go back to their—his flat to pick some up.
John sighed and nodded. He would have offered some of his own, but Sebastian towered over him. He even towered over Sherlock…. "I'll go with you."
He'd expected that and nodded, thankful. If someone else was there he'd be less likely to break down. John got ready and they left, taking a cab to the flat. Sebastian simply walked in. He hadn't bothered to lock it when he had left last. Nothing was out of place. The flat itself was much larger than John's, but modestly decorated. A bit messy, but not a dump. John noticed a barrage of bullet holes in the floor and on the ceiling where it appeared that there was once a ceiling fan. "Be a minwete." Sebastian left John in the living room and headed down the hall.
John wandered, taking in the room. It was a bit alarming to see it just how similar it was to his own flat. On the kitchen counter he saw the coffee cup that he vaguely remembered Sebastian mentioning a month ago.
It was a simple white mug, but it was covered in scribbles from a sharpie marker. Someone had drawn a tiger on it. A very poorly drawn tiger, but a tiger none the less. Under that there were the words "Sebby the Tiger". There were other messages as well. "Jim's an asshole". "Seb's a princess". "Jim cries watching Glee". It was like they were having an argument on the mug.
He swallowed hard. They really were close. He, unlike John, had probably told Moriarty… Jim…how he felt. He had had time that he spent with Jim. John didn't have that with Sherlock. He had been afraid. And now he never would. And look where he was now.
John moved further into the kitchen, looking at the notes on the fridge. Notes written by Jim— reminding Seb about whom to kill, where the next job was, to buy ice cream. It…was a lot like Sherlock. A sicker, more twisted version. Sebastian returned with a duffle bag slung over his shoulder. "Done…."
He jumped and looked up from where he was reading the notes. He felt more than a bit guilty for delving into Sebastian's private life like that. "Right." He started to move toward the door, but Sebastian didn't move.
Sebastian glanced at the fridge, scanning over them, before looking down at the mug, gently picking it up. The coffee in it sloshed around slightly. "Birthday gift…Jim sucked at gift giving." His nose had cleared up a bit, allowing his speech return slightly back to normal. "He said he made it himself. That it was his greatest masterpiece…."
"…Sherlock was terrible at gifts too. He always got me the ugliest jumpers. I still have them all…." John smiled weakly.
Sebastian stared down into the mug. The stale coffee was still swishing about a bit. He found himself going to the sink. With a deep breath he slowly poured the coffee out, rinsed the mug, and placed it in his duffle bag. "Let's go." He didn't want to linger here any longer.
John held the door open for Sebastian and locked the door after him. He hailed a cab to take them back to Baker Street. When they were back John pointed to a doorway. "Bathroom's through there if you want to shower and change."
Sebastian nodded, going in to wash and dress. He came out in jeans and a t-shirt, going straight to the couch. His head was pounding from a massive headache.
While Sebastian was in the shower, John had made some more soup. Then he sat down to watch some crap telly. Seeing the other man had an obvious headache, he turned to subtitles, switching off the sound. "Eat, then get some sleep. I'll wake you at dinner."
"Okay…." He eat quickly, not really tasting it, and soon fell asleep, dreaming this time. Dreams filled with gunfire and a giggling maniac at his side. Dreams of sitting on the couch being forced to sit through Glee and Jim's crappy singing. "'m sorry." He mumbled, and John pretended not to hear.
At dinner John gently shook Sebastian awake. He'd been tossing and turning on the couch the entire time he was asleep. "You okay?" He had sat the mushroom soup and fruit juice down beside Sebastian's medicine.
He opened his eyes, blinking the sleep away. "I'm fine." He gladly took the soup, but glared at the medicine once again. "Already?"
"Yes, already." He sat down in his own armchair with his own portion of the soup.
Sebastian grumbled, wanting to throw the bottle out the window. "I'd like to see you taking this crap."
"I have. Multiple times. Don't be such a baby." John rolled his eyes and downed part off his soup.
"But it's so disgusting." He whined and ate his soup slowly as possible.
"That's how you know it's working."
When he finished his soup, Sebastian submitted to the fact that he had to take his medicine. "Ugh…I hate you…." He fell face first into a pillow.
John snorted, but didn't respond. Finishing up his own dinner, he stood and took the dishes to the kitchen, finally doing the dishes. That finished, he went back to the living room, for the first time, noted that Sebastian actually had to curl up to lie on the couch. That couldn't be good for him. But he couldn't put him in Sherlock's room. He doubted either of them would have approved of that arrangement. His own room, then. "That isn't good for your back. You can use my room till you get better. I'll sleep down here or…in Sherlock's room."
"Alright, I guess." He stood up, cracking his back. "You sure? I'm already putting you out as it is…."
John shook his head. "I wouldn't have offered if I wasn't sure. I don't mind." He'd make due. He had barely been in Sherlock's room since it had happened, but if Sebastian could rinse out the coffee cup, John could sleep in the bedroom.
"Thank you." Sebastian said honestly as he followed John upstairs after a quick stop in the bathroom to change into pyjamas. A bit awkwardly, he crawled under the coverlet and sheets, sinking down and sighing in contentment. "This is soooooft." He smiled lazily. "Okay, whatever. I'm kinda glad I'm putting you out."
John laughed. "No problem. Text me in you need anything during the night. And don't try to take the stairs by yourself if you're feeling dizzy." He grabbed a pair of pyjamas from his dresser. "G'night."
"Night." Sebastian replied, pulling the blankets close and feeling comfortable for the first time in months. He quickly dosed off.
John finally fell asleep in Sherlock's bed around midnight. He took comfort in the fact that it still smelled like him after four months. Upstairs, in John's room, the door opened almost silently and a tall shadow crept into the room.
Seb was in a dead sleep, but despite that and his flu, his senses as a sniper were not as dulled as he had assumed. He raised his head, squinting in the darkness. "…John?" He called out, and the figure froze. "…Oh great…now I'm seeing Holmes. Mental health declining quicker…each day." He let his head fall back into the pillow.
Sherlock froze. This…was not John. Why was Moriarty's best man here? Why was he in John's bed? "Where is John and what are you doing here?"
"He's in your room…" Talking to the hallucination was causing his headache to come back. "He's a good doctor…don't even know why he even wants me to stay alive…."
That made Sherlock's heart sting a bit. "And he's fine?" Sherlock glared at the body in John's bed.
"Mhmm…he's all nestle in there." Despite the returning headache, Sebastian began to nod off again. "Why am I seein' you? John's the one who's in love with you…."
"John doesn't know what's good for himself. Getting attached to sociopaths. Letting murderers sleep in his own home. In his own bed…." Sherlock murmured before he shook his head. "He's better off without me."
"Pft!" A snort came from deep within the blankets. "That's what I thought about Jim, but he loves you."
Sherlock just shook his head again and glared at the lump in the bed. "I'll be watching, Moran. If anything happens to John while you're here you will live to regret it." He turned back to the door, but glanced over his shoulder one last time. "And on the chance that you do remember this in the morning, it would probably be better if you did not mention this to John."
"Whatever..." And then Sebastian was dead to the world.
At the second landing Sherlock paused, torn between just leaving and peeking in on John. Finally, his urge won out, and he slipped over to the bedroom door, peeking in. John was curled up in the center of the bed, clutching one of Sherlock's pillows to his chest as if his life depended on it. It hurt Sherlock to see, but he couldn't come back yet. Maybe ever. Not while there were still people who would use John to get at Sherlock. Who would kill John if they knew Sherlock was still alive. "See you again soon, John." And he shut the door with a click. He didn't hear John mumble "Sherlock…" or see him bury his face in the pillow.
His business done for the night, Sherlock stepped out of 221B Baker Street and out the street, disappearing as completely as if he had never been there.
Sebastian sat at the table, resting his head on it, while John made breakfast. "I had…the weirdest dream. I think I was being stalked or somethin'." He said as he watched John scramble eggs. "You have any weird dreams?"
John shrugged. "About the same as ever. Sherlock, again." He sat a plate of scrambled eggs and toast in front of Sebastian. "I did sleep better though. It was…comforting."
"Other than the stalker, I slept good too." He had. In fact, he had slept better than he had in months. He took a few bites. "Haven't had these in forever." He happily eats more. "Last time I did it was Jim who made them. I was puking for the next two days."
John laughed, sitting down with his own plate. "I haven't had them in forever either. It was one of the few things I didn't have to force Sherlock to eat."
"Jim sucked at cooking. He messed up cereal for god's sake! Once, I came home to find milk all over the floor and him the box with cheerios pouring out. I asked him what the fuck he was doing and you know what his reply was? 'I couldn't find a bowl.'"
John buried his face with hand, laughing. "Ah—once, Sherlock decided that he was going to make dinner—god only knows why—and he put some water on for pasta. The thing is that he'd forgotten that he'd poured some chemicals on the stove and hadn't cleaned them up. That's—that's where the black spot on the ceiling came from." He motioned over his shoulder at the ceiling.
Sebastian laughed, looking up at it. "So you saw the gaping hole at the flat! Well, I was out when Jim texts me saying that he's bored. Blah blah blah." He made a dismissive gesture. "I just tell him I'm on my way home. I get in—bullet holes everywhere. The ceiling fan is just hanging there from wires. He decided to play with one of his guns since there was nothing on the telly!"
"Oh god, Sherlock did the same thing! That's where the smiley face in the living room came from—!" There were tears of laughter streaming from John's eyes.
"I was curious about that!" Sebastian laughed even harder, his own tears gathering as they continued to laugh together. "I—I haven't laughed this hard in forever."
"M-me either!" He couldn't stop grinning.
"I really needed that." Sebastian leaned back in his chair, wiping his eyes. "I really did."
John nodded, taking a bite of his scrambled eggs, savoring the fact that he actually had an appetite for once. "Me too."
Sebastian finished off his plate, still laughing slightly. He was feeling better. The flu was ending. That meant that he'd be leaving soon…but part of him didn't want to leave. He wanted to stay. He finally had someone to talk to. Someone to relate to.
John smiled, sitting back in his seat. This was the best that he'd felt in months. Because he'd taken Sebastian in. But…it was obvious that he wasn't as sick as he had been. This meant he'd be wanting to get back to his own life. John wasn't sure how he felt about that. He didn't know how he'd grown so attached to the taller man. He hadn't realized how much he liked having someone else in the flat. He missed it.
After breakfast, Sebastian helped John clean up, telling him a few more stories, like when Jim had once accidently destroyed a priceless china set while on a job, to get a few good giggles out of the smaller man. He washed up, put on clean clothes, and sat down on the couch, silently knowing his welcome here was up.
John listened to Sebastian's stories, laughing and smiling the entire time. But John knew that Sebastian must have been itching to get out of the flat. He honestly didn't want the other man to go. One more last ditch attempt. He sat down next to the other man."Ah—Sebastian—Seb, you know, you're welcome here anytime you want. I mean, if you need someone to talk to, or somewhere to stay…."
Sebastian looked at John, utterly floored. "You…you really want me around?" He couldn't believe what he'd heard. "After…all that's happened? I mean, you still want to talk to me?"
John nodded firmly. "I know that before I said that if had to be miserable and alive, you had to too. But I've been less miserable these last few days than I have in months. I think...we're friends, Seb. We may not agree on things, but we have a lot in common. More than we have with anyone else. You can even have my room upstairs; I'll move into Sherlock's room."
"Friends." The word was so odd. He hadn't had a friend since high school…since Jim. Here sat a man that he'd tried to kill more than once and he was offering him a place to stay and friendship. He laughed a bit. "Doc, you're insane. But luckily for you, I like that in a flatmate."
John grinned and put out his hand. "Me too."
Seb grasped John's hand, giving it a firm squeeze and shaking it. "You know, I think we're gonna be fine." For the first time those words actually meant something.
"Me too."
And…done.
This story was the brain child of divine-valley, from tumblr, and myself (independentideals). It follows an omegle rp we did a while back. There's a sequel in the works too, if you like this.
Thanks for reading!